Dark Lord
by Ana Margarita
Summary: Repost. 1700. Fallen angel meets legendary Dark Lord. He wants her to love him, she wants a place in heaven. And sometimes, heaven is something more than a kingdom in the clouds. Ratings will change in later chapters.
1. Chapter 1

Repost. 1700. Fallen angel meets legendary Dark Lord. He wants her to love him, she wants a place in heaven and sometimes, heaven is something more than a kingdom in the clouds. Ratings will change in later chapters.

Chapter 1

* * *

She was the forbidden angel, forbidden because she was a heretic of her kind. Tomoyo was her name.

Do not be fooled by my words. Indeed she is an angel, the fallen one of her kind. She bore the black wings that symbolize unclean and undeserving of life in heaven.

They threw her to limbo, the world between heaven and hell. She was never meant to live, or so the myth was told. The gods left her to die. Such a heinous crime of infanticide was to be committed, but the blow of their hammer only served to strengthen her spirit when she survived. She had a pure heart, make no mistake. She was able to free herself of grudges and was instead instilled the virtue of fear.

Often times she would rock herself to sleep with a tear-strained face. She tried to be of those on earth. Humans, I think they were called. But they ran her out of town with torches and clubs as if she was some horrible beast, and later she did believe she was one. They stripped her of her wings, broke them off till she was left to bleed alone, and then scorned her to damnation. "Die," they said. "Die!"

She was left in Forest Black, where she stayed to hide her face. She was only one and ten, you know. Not even old enough to be considered responsible for herself.

She felt like dying then, as she bled on the moss covered rocks. The harsh wind licked her porcelain skin as her body went numb with intolerable remorse. Balling her body tightly, she tried to shield herself from the rain as it beat hard against her. Her body was so bruised and weak that the cold got the better of her. Coughing fits racked her lungs till they grew terribly sore and sputtered blood.

Her body was weak, became those of a broken doll.

The gods pitied her. Mortals cursed her.

Unloved. The forbidden angel was terribly unloved.

* * *

"He's coming! The Dark lord is coming! Run if you value your lives!" a man shouted a hysterical man, as hooves and rampaging horses sounded from the ground.

Another traveler, Tomoyo thought sleepily, not completely registering his words. It was always a traveler since it were only travelers who passed by her forest.

She peered down from her tree house she required herself to build so she had something that resembled somewhat of a home. But never a home.

Stallions, horses, and mares alike ran across the forest, dodging trees and bushes, leaping gracefully. To Tomoyo, it resembled something of a dance.

She watched soldiers charge, and only when she opened her ears to the first piercing cry that struck the four winds did she really understand the height of the situation.

It was a war.  
In her forest.

"Dear lord," she rasped looking at men charging from left and right. "This cannot be," she whispered in a frightened manner. _This cannot be, this cannot be…_

She whipped her head away from the blood sputtered on the desecrated ground. The whispers of Satan's minions jeering them on were vaguely heard.

Tentatively, she opened an eye. Down below, a boorish, almost-toothless man with a misshapen jaw leered at her and stabbed his blade to the tree. Oh my god.

Tomoyo shuffled her hands back till her spine pressed on for dear life against the wall. Then she took a glance again and saw the man crawling his way up. Oh my god, oh my god. She felt her heart thumping to a thousand beats and her insides grow fiercely cold. What was she to do?

She could fly. Yes, she could fly! But her wings were not fully healed. And gods did it hurt to push them from beneath her skin. Tomoyo tried to though. She lifted the rag she wore and tried to breathe and push. She felt her world tighten around her as she gave a cough and spat blood, then pushed again. "Help me, my lords." she choked pleadingly, as tears fell down her eyes from the excruciating pain, "give me strength."

A grimy hand impulsive took hold of the plank of wood that made up her floor. She could hear the distinct sound of dark, sadist laughter.

After the thousands of beatings, she felt her heart suddenly stop in fear and blood pound in her ears. "Stay away from me," she warned in a hysterical voice, "Stay away! Don't come near me! Please don't!"

The man's scarred lip curled to a sadistic smile that showed his one gold tooth. "Élo poppet," he sneered forcefully grabbing her ankle and yanking her to him.

She begged him to stop.

She whispered it, then she screamed it.

* * *

"Arik!" bellowed a commanding voice, as scarred-lip turned his head sharply away from Tomoyo and snarled viciously. "Get your arse down here and take in the prisoners."

Scarred-lip turned back to Tomoyo, still with his lip curled horribly. "'fraid we'll have the finish this anoth'r time, eh poppet," he growled, taking her wrists and roping them roughly. Then he forcefully placed a hard kiss on her relenting lips. "Ye c'n count on that."

She felt her body convulsively shudder at the feel of his clammy palms spread unchastely against her skin. Revulsion, she thought. Utter revulsion. From the pit of her stomach, she wanted to vomit.

Rope burn scathed and marred her skin when he gruffly grabbed both wrists and wrung them tightly together, even leaving finger imprints on her that turned red—that would later turn an ugly purple, she knew. Then tossing her over his heavily muscled shoulders, Arik made his way down the tree.

"Stop strugglin', ye damned girl!" he commanded in a crude, surly voice. But that only led her to do otherwise, and writhe more. She would sooner die than give the man the satisfaction. She had her pride.

"I ses' stop strugglin'!" But she paid no attention, instead, pounding her fisted hands on his body as furiously as she could.

"Fine! Have it your way, girly," he snarled, pushing her _off_ his shoulder half way down the tree. "Stupid girl."

Tomoyo bit her lip _hard_ to contain the ferocious hurting that came when her back hit the ground squarely. She drew blood on her lips.

She arched her back and writhed to the side. Searing pain hit her body like flashes of lightning. Spots of different colors exploded before her eyes as she bit her lip to contain a scream. Blood slipped from her mouth and tears slipped from her eyes as she tried to swallow the undeniable hurt that pounded her body in repeated waves of motion. She was going to bruise all over, of that she was sure.

Her chest tore open and her head was chopped right off and tossed to the side, hitting the bark of the tree then lolling limply to the side.

…

No, that was not true, but the feeling wasn't very far from it.

Tomoyo curled her body on the blood covered ground and sheltered her face. She tried to hold her body, tried to comfort herself, but could not. She moved her hands furiously against the rope, even when she knew it would not help at all. Several tears found their way to her dirty cheeks. Agonizingly, she asked God why he did not help her, why he _never_ helped her. And why he did not love her.

"Damned it, Arik!" swore a man heavily clothed in armor, "They're prisoners, not throw pillows!"

It was the man who, though unaware of it, saved her very womanhood from scarred-lip Arik. He took off his steel-made head protection and knelt by Tomoyo. He observed her ethereal features with watchful, amber eyes. Tipping her head side to side, he noted the wetness of her face then glanced at Arik's sadistic grin.

"You best not get Arik, yonder there, riled up," he advised in a patient manner. "All lot of good it'll do you." He took hold of Tomoyo's chin with pressure that did not suit well with her. It felt degrading, how the stranger was studying her.

"Stay still," he exasperated, as she flitted her head from side to side to avoid his hand. "I'm only trying to see the damage."

Turning her cheek to her shoulder, she tried to rub the tears away, but he only held her chin more roughly.

"Don't touch me," she whispered, trying best to hold bravery in her fear-stricken heart, but thoroughly failing. "_Please don't_."

The stranger's brows furrowed in a speculative look, then motioned a young boy, "Boy. Boy!" Tomoyo spared a curious glance and saw the boy purposely turn his back on the man. "Damnit Syaoran!"

It was only then the chocolate-haired turned, only to reveal to Tomoyo he was no boy at all, but a man. "Yes bossman?"

Perhaps it was his height that made him very boy-like, Tomoyo meaningfully thought, sizing him up as he, with evident smugness, casually sauntered towards them. While others in her situation would have regarded the boy as nothing, in him she was a way out. He _did_ look rather small…

"_General_, Syaoran. _General Touya_," the man said through gritted teeth. "Bloody jackanapes."

"Take this girl to the Dark Lord," Touya commanded with an air of authority purposefully, shoving her firmly to the boy's steady arms. He heard a gasp from the girl.

He looked at Arik who showed interest at their conversation, and confidingly added, "_No one _else."

"His grace is roaming the perimeter, _General_."

"Is that so?" the man said, scratching lightly the underside of his chin. He looked quite thoughtful just then.

"Yes. Now may I go, or do you need me to stay for a while? Lord knows how long it takes for you to sink information."

While they rambled on, Tomoyo tried to slip her arm away from this Syaoran-guy's grasp. Ever so gently easing it out. The dark lord was here. She heard most of the legends tales. If any of it was true, he would have no mercy. The dark lord would slay them all.

"Learn your manners BOY."

If she could just—loosen his grasp. She looked right and left, trying to determine the course of action to take and how exactly she was to take it.

"Manners? I fear, dear _General_, it is you who does not have the slightest inkling on what exactly manners are!"

Up close, the boy wasn't that small, now that she thought about it. A bit taller than her actually. But both men were rather bulky because of the steel-armor.

"Oh, I damned well wager that _you_ fear of being mistake for a gentleman."

Certainly she would be able to outrun them, she strategized. Perhaps.

"I will have you know I fear nothing. Which is hardly at all that I can say for – FUCK!"

Tomoyo had driven her foot down onto Syaoran's as hard as she could and yanked her arm back. It was quick and smooth, just as she had hoped. Dashing south, she could only pray her theory was not wronged by the gods.

For once, she thought, be on _my side_.

"_Son of a bitch!_"

* * *

Touya tried to run after her. Tried, even, to grab her by the torn drabbles of her shirt. But he didn't. Couldn't. "Shits," he cursed, kicking the ground, then taking hold of his own head. The woman was damned smart! He gave her that.

He turned, looking at Syaoran like the wrath of Hell. "This is your fault," he growled, persisting to make it a big deal since it was indeed _Syaoran_ who slipped up. And even then, the boy had not budged from his spot, evidently still tending to his foot.

"My foot," Syaoran cried, "She fucking massacred it!"

"Don't be an arse, Syaoran. She was not even _wearing_ footwear. It couldn't be _that_ painful."

"_Fuck you_."

Touya did not reply to this. Instead, he looked at the direction of Tomoyo's footsteps, and sighed. They were pathetic. They really were.

"She'll be back, bossman."

"How the hell do you know?"

Syaoran shook his head and feigned disappointment on his face. "Sometimes I wonder why they _ever_ made you general," he tsked.

* * *

She crossed the forest as fast as she could, hearing her heart thumping wildly in her ears. Soon, dizziness and lightheadedness took over. It was only then she slowed down.

Tomoyo put a hand above the flesh of her left breast and felt for her heart. She tried to ease it, she knew she it was not at all good to overstress herself, she knew the consequences, but it couldn't be helped.

Today was not a good day, she wearily thought as she felt her throat close slightly and began to cough. Breathe, she demanded of herself, breathe.

When her heart slowed to normal pace, she relaxed, looking back at the camp she triumphantly escaped from. She allowed herself to be overwhelmed with the sense of accomplishment. After all, it certainly wasn't everyday one escapes with success from a fleet of soldiers.

"No, it's not."

* * *

Tomoyo whipped her face around only to find a man, riding on a sleek, black horse in all its majesty, towering over her, looking at her with calm eyes.

And holding a sword to her throat.

Eriol tipped his sword to her chin, forcing it to look him in the eyes. "A girl?" the man said. His voice was a deep rumble in his chest, oddly interesting considering her circumstances. He examined her once over and saw nothing more than a girl in tattered scraps of cloth. "A servant girl," he amended with bits of amusement in his voice and lips that she made her very much suspicious. Once he decided she was harmless, he sheathed his sword and slid of his stallion. The moment he did so, she shuffled her hands back and prepared to dash.

Eriol Hiirigizawa foresaw this and grabbed her tattered collar before she could get any further—And saw something most curious on her back. He bent his head to take a close look at her, but she only struggled some more. He shifted his hold on her shoulders and turned her to face him. The distance between them was enough for him to smell the faint aroma of lemons. "Stop moving, sweetling," he soothingly whispered, "I only want to look at you."

Tomoyo stared up through the thick fringe of her lashes. She look up—and then up some more. She would have thought him to only _seem_ tall before since she was lain on the ground and he on his stallion. But even if her legs refused to stay straight, thus she was not at her full height, he was all the same, very much tall.

He was easily six foot two, lean and superbly fit. He held a passive line above his shapely jaw. Dark brows arched, the same hue as that of his unruly, black hair. His skin was not burnished by the wind although his cheeks flushed from the sun. His slightly unshaven face was very handsome, Tomoyo allowed him that. But there was an aggressive virility in his bold gaze and an uncompromising authority in the set of his jaw that was not at all to Tomoyo's liking, save for the blueness of his eyes that reminded her of shards of ice.

Indeed he might have passed for a god.

A very arrogant god, she averred, looking at the set of his lips. Fortunately he had long gone without shaving, and there was stubble by the base of his firm jaw. He smelled of woodsmoke, sea air, and pine. Human, all right, all too human, too real, and much too close.

On a closer appraisal, Eriol thought her more woman than what he first thought was girl. Cheeks that have been red with exertion were rapidly paling, reveal alabaster smooth skin. Her features were delicately drawn, a straight, slender nose, sitting above a full mouth and a gently rounded chin. But it was those eyes, huge and slightly uptilted eyes the precise shade of amethyst, beneath the thick fringe of her lashes, that stuck him bewitched for the shortest moment.

A serf, he would have guessed, as he glanced over her roped wrists. A serf escaped an army of trained soldiers. A very clever serf, he inwardly concluded, then letting his eyes linger on the fullness of her tempting lips, he quietly added, "and a terribly pretty one as well."

"Come then," he commanded, grabbing the ropes on her wrists and dragged her back to camp, trying to ignore his sinful thoughts. "I believe camp is this way."

* * *

Tomoyo tried to resist the pull, even as she began to feel the rope burn again. "No, please," she whimpered, her voice scarcely above a whisper as she tripped over her feet that scraped against the gravel. She didn't want to go back. Lord, no she didn't. "_please_."

She threw herself down and desperately clutched onto Eriol's breeches. "You don't understand," she choked in a voice that was raw and hoarse with fear. "He's there… The Dark Lord's there."

He stopped and very briefly glanced a look her way, then resumed walking—and then stopped. Silence came about for a few minutes, while Eriol pondered briefly what to say. "What if I told you," he said, looking unmoved by her declaration of fear but rather curious instead, "I _am_ the Dark Lord?"

"I swear I don't lie," she pleaded with an unmistakable panic, "I heard it from the guards. He's there."

The fear vanished from quiver of her lips, replaced by fierce insult when she saw only a quirk on his lip and playful amusement in his blue eyes.

"I beg you not to make fun," she impudently huffed, not hiding the irritation in her voice, but hiding those that were in her eyes, through a bent head, "You with for me to fear you—is that it? Is that why you are proclaiming such nonsense? The dark lord kills babes and drinks their blood to quench his thirst for innocents. Is that what _you_ do?" Her tone was one of mockery intended to wipe the calm amusement on his face.

His head tilted to one side. Grasping her chin between his thumb and forefinger, he gently forced her to look at him; then was unable to stop the curl of his lips. "You don't believe me."

"No," she said through gritted teeth, jerking her head away from his hand and lifting her chin defiantly. "As a matter a fact, I don't. I make it a point not to believe in liars."

"Liars?"

Tomoyo stood up, dusting her clothes uncaringly. "Next time, may I suggest a wooden leg and a scarred eye? Perhaps then you would have deemed a _slightly_ passable 'Dark Lord,'" she smoothly suggested with a hint of malice behind her voice when she saw Eriol still looking at her with oddness.

"Pirate, you mean," he corrected almost automatically. Evidently the girl did not know the difference.

Indignant, she walked briskly ahead towards camp, still with her hands roped tightly and the belittling look in her eyes. "You sir, are no more 'Dark Lord' than I."

* * *

From a great distance, Touya could see three figures, two of them human, and the third, four-legged. He then inhaled, and cast Syaoran a sideway glance, unable to help the crooked slant of his lips. He could almost see the smugness visibly surround the boy. No doubt, he was _very_ self-satisfied right now.

"Say it," Syaoran heard Touya say, and was incapable of holding back a smirk, "I know you want to."

"I don't know what you mean, General," he said with a light shrug meant to annoy.

"The hell you don't."

* * *

Eriol gathered Tomoyo in his arms and lifted her to Touya's, not pausing even when the woman gasped and writhed with her hands. "Damned it! Unhand me, you scoundrel! ---" Tomoyo demanded, but was immediately cut off by Eriol.

"Take her to my tent," he said, and saw her eyes widen a great deal. "And bring a basin of water," he added meaningfully.

"Yes, m'lord."

"Lord…?" Tomoyo's eyes widened a great deal. _What if I told you I am the Dark Lord,_ she could hear his words whispered as she felt her body be taken away-- but her eyes remained on Eriol as long as it could. It was him, she frighteningly thought. He was telling the truth. _Manslayer_.

Exhaling heavily, Eriol watched the girl be carried off, knowing full well he would be dealing with her fright later on, just like so many others. She stared at him with eyes wide with unabashed fright as the color of her cheeks drained away. He was a monster, that much, he knew others have heard. And a monster, he would always be apparently.

"Was she a handful, your grace?" Syaoran inquired, looking from him to Tomoyo, then back to him. "She escaped from a fleet of soldiers," Eriol sighed dryly, "_My_ fleet of soldiers. Let us not fool ourselves into believing otherwise."

"Of course, your grace."

Silence overcame them.

Eriol looked at Syaoran, then clasped his hands behind his back and gazed up. After several silencing moments, he said in a voice low enough, "Find out who she is, will you?"

The brown-haired boy looked at him with furrowed brows.

"She has slashes on her back, Syaoran" Eriol tiredly mentioned. "I want to know why. Abuse, beatings, falls, whatever it may be."

"Of course, your grace."

* * *

In the tent, she rocked herself back and forth. He was the Dark Lord. He was the man who slayed men, women, and _children_. As a child, she remembered how the gods paid no notice whilst she crawled among them and listened attentively to their stories. They said nothing good about _him_. They made him out to be a fiendish ogre who clubbed his way through villages. But when she looked at him, he did not seem like all those things. Rather handsome, she thought reluctantly. Very handsome, actually. Were it not for the passive line of his lips, she would have contemplated him her guardian angel sent to take her back up to the heavens.

But he wasn't.

She prayed for those above to show some sign of plan to escape, but her mind ran furiously on the tales of the Dark Lord: _He slays young babes. He keeps no prisoners lest he torture them to suicide. He laughs while many scream in blood. A heartless, foul, bloodthirsty man of the Devil._

'_Tis said he eats the flesh of those he kills… _Young Eris, Goddess of Discord said with a cruel twist on her pale lips, _perhaps after the war, he collected your father's corpse and ate it as well_. Rumors, all rumors, Tomoyo told herself as a child weeping in bed for the da and ma she could no longer recall. She tried several times to conjure the image of her deceased parents, but it only served to bring tender throbbing along her temple and forehead.

Bile heaved up Tomoyo's throat as she no longer prayed for escape, rather a swift death by the Dark Lord's blade. Perhaps then, she would finally lift off to a better place and see if she was the very likeness of her ma and da.

Her heart gave a thundering leap as, all around her, metal clanked against metal and pleads of mercy from men--- from prisoners--- arose to the air. "Mercy Dark Lord—Mercy!" she could hear the terrified scream. Then one by one, the noise was muffled.

Caught up in her thoughts, she did not see Eriol come in and loosen her bonds. But as soon as she felt her hands free of ropes, Tomoyo clumsily surged to her feet. Driven by twin demons of fear and fury, she doubled her fists and swung with all her new found might against the dark, shadowed figure in front of her.

"_Monster!_" Tomoyo shouted. "_Devil!_" and she swung again, but this time her fist was caught in a painfully vice grip and held above her head. But she continued to squirm till she landed a mighty kick on his shin. "_Bloodthirsty demon! Despoiler of innoc---!_"

"What the bloody---!" Eriol Hiirigizawa exclaimed, and caught his assailant by the waist and held her close to him, efficiently trapping her arms. But despite his trappings, she caught Eriol squarely on the groin with a knee with force that nearly doubled him over.

He bit his lip and swore under his breath. Gathering her once more into his arms, he brought her down against the ground and confined her limbs. But even then, she writhed blindly in his arms. "Be still!" he thundered, still sore in places he couldn't mention in the midst of women and hurting in ego.

"Look at me," he ordered in the gentlest of his persuasive tone. She didn't, he craned his head and forced their eyes to meet. "What's _bothering_ you?" On the brink of tears, Tomoyo did the most she could to keep her pride, and lifted her chin to him in trembling defiance. But Eriol lightly tipped her head back down. "_Tell me_."

The look of concern in the man's dark eyes was all it took for her defenses to crumble down and weep in longing for her da and ma. For the night, she cast herself into the arms of the enemy and found comfort.

* * *

Frost sparkled against the grass, lit by the first rays of the morning sun and Eriol found himself opening his reluctant eyes to the ray that strayed to his eyes. In his arms lay Tomoyo curled up with her arms wound tightly around his chest. Her raven tresses curled against her finely sculpted face of smooth porcelain and spread across the ground, very much resembling those of an Egyptian Goddess, but with a face like a seraph. Without the anxiety etched on her forehead, she looked considerably like a child instead of the broken woman she was when she struck him with her fists, and, as he painfully could not forget, her knee.

Last night, she sought consolation in her adversary and the notion made him frown. It was not that he wanted for her to see him as an enemy, but between an enemy and a virtuous knight, he would have preferred the former. And strictly as an enemy, he could not deny the many things he felt with her head buried in his chest. There was a particular contentment in having her find solace in his arms. But had the gods spoken to him, they would have judged the concept shame-- would have told him he liked the night for her breasts that pressed tightly to his torso, and not for having comforted her. Perhaps, he thought in a male chauvinistic perception that he found justifiable, staring down at the ample bosom that lay half-exposed from his view and feeling a tension in his loins. He was, after all, only man starving of the delectable pleasures.

"If you are quite finished," said an irritable Tomoyo, awake and looking nothing like a child, rather a fiery temptress with her disheveled hair and amethyst eyes that struck him bewitched. Laying there with her elbows propped up and a shapely calf peeking from beneath his furs, he inwardly groaned as his mind wandered to the concept of forcing her back down and feeling the softness between those damned legs of hers.

Loosing himself back in his thoughts, his gaze roamed her hidden figure till he met her eyes once again and found her staring back him with banked ire. He coughed, clearing his throat uneasily. The damned woman had the eyes of a witch. "Well then," he dwindled awkwardly, "would you like something to eat?" When she did not answer, he smiled mightly. "I'll get us something to eat."

No matter what he did, Eriol could not shake the compromising images that kept flying into his head, with Tomoyo sprawled on his bed covers the way she was. And with the way she was gazing at him, he knew the images could not be helped. Instead, he embraced them, and smiled at her. What he was smiling about, she need not know.

Tomoyo watched him lift himself from beneath the furs and take big strides outside. When he came back moments later with carved bowls of murky yellowish goop, she studied the way he towered over her with the poise of a warrior. He moved swiftly and surely, but he didn't speak like what she imagined the Dark Lord to speak like. He held not the manners of a brute ogre— and had even been almost gentlemanly towards her last night.

"Your food---."

"What's _wrong_ with you?" she blurted out, unable to stop the spill of words from her lips.

Eriol's hand stopped in mid-air and his eyebrows rose. "Usually when I hand a lady food, they tell me thank you," he mused, watching her cover her lips with a dainty hand. "Perhaps the better question to be asked is what is wrong with _you._"

She pursed her lips and turned her head away, unwilling to submit to his kindness. Not even bothering to reach for her food in his hand, he propped it between her legs and looked at her with smiling eyes. "Aren't you hungry?"

"No."

No sooner had she said the word, a low grumble from the pit of her stomach betrayed her words. Flags of red colored her cheeks in furious embarrassment, as she watched him take satisfaction in that. "Are you sure about that?" he cajoled, taking her food and lifting it to her mouth.

"It doesn't look much now, sweetling," he coaxed, "but it will fill the stomach, of that I'm sure. Now come---."

"I'm _fine_," she said testily, furrowing her brows deeply then tucking her chin behind her knees. "I want to go home."

Eriol sighed deeply, placing the bowls down. "I know you do," he said with sham solemnity, then took a spoonful of food and gave a wayward smile. "But you can't. Now, if you were better company, perhaps I'd think about it."

A dark cloud poured over Tomoyo's face. Shoving him back hard, she let out a low growl. "_Liar._"

The moment she did so, Syaoran, who had been waiting by his master's tent, charged in and trapped her hands behind her back. Tomoyo struggled in his arms, but he said nothing, merely keeping a passive face and eyes on the Dark Lord's next orders.

"Let me go!" Tomoyo gritted, writhing blindly in his vice grip. "_You're hurting me_." Unable to raise her voice any higher than a harsh whisper, feeling the imprints of contempt on her skin as Syaoran's fingers dug bitingly. Eriol looked at him with an understanding that only few of his men could read. Reluctantly, his squire removed his hands from her limbs and left, but not before glaring darkly at her for having assaulted his commander.

Tomoyo rubbed her wrists and found it to have red imprints of the man's hands still left on them. "Your squire bruised my wrist," she said bitterly, shooting Eriol an accusatory glance, who did simply returned to her a smile. "Well, time and time again, you seem to bruise my ego," he objectively pointed out, lifting his eyebrows knowingly. "I'd say you had it coming, little one."

"Stop calling me with your little _pet names_," she heatedly huffed, standing up to measure to his height. "I have a name."

Eriol watched her in all her fiery temptress beauty, taking the stand of a warrior with feet spread and hands plunked on tender curve of her hips, glaring at him with burning ire in her amethyst eyes, "What is your name then, little o--."

"_Tomoyo_." The indignation in her tone was one of unmistakable resentment. But as he tasted her name on his tongue, she wished she had said it with a bit more loathing. There were shivers she got in the base of her spine that traveled all over burningly when he repeated her name again. The tremor in his voice, she decided, was very alluring.

"I like that," Eriol said, slowly pulling a lazy smile on his lips. "Tomoyo," he caressingly rolled off his tongue, then again, and again.

"Alright, _stop it_!" she burst.

For a moment, Eriol fell silent under her fierce gaze that leaped like fire. The woman was so easily provoked—and when she was, it was terribly appealing. A drawled wayward curve reached his mouth thoughtfully. "It suits you, your name."

She could not contain the heated flush of her skin when his dark eyes swept her figure in a lazy manner. And the colored flags that reached her cheeks burned furiously looked tremendously appealing as well. He'd be sure to make her burn a thousand times brighter in the future.

* * *

"What good can you do, Tomoyo," he asked as he lifted the flap of his tent, prepared to leave for a hunt.

Tomoyo prepared herself for this question. Already in her head was a half-concocted plan of escape. With a deep breath she promptly said, "Sewing." She nodded her head in conviction. "I'm rather good at sewing."

Eriol whistled for his squire sharply and waved. "Syaoran," he called, "A needle for the lady and whatever cloth we have." Then shot a promising smile to Tomoyo. But when Syaoran came running back with only a needle between his fingers, he claimed to have found no cloth save the pile of worn out clothes of his men.

"Clothes are fine," Tomoyo quietly said, though on the inside she was dancing with much merriment. Struck gold, was what she had done. She could see Eriol tip his head to a side and look unsure. He scratched his chin contemplatively. From a bold leader, he turned to a rather considerate man. "Are you sure? Perhaps you would rather---."

"The clothes are fine," she assuredly said, determined not to think of his kindness, rather the execution of her escape.

Hours later she sat in a tent shared by breeches and tunics that stunk of sweat. Her hand ached slightly of tiredness as she sat back and placed the needle down for a moment. She had been examining a pair of clothes she had adjusted to a size bigger than her when she suddenly heard the hooves of horses against the ground. They were back.

Quickly she pushed beneath mountains of cloth, the breeches she had altered, then gathered another bunch and tried her best to look the epitome of a weary lady sewing a patch onto torn cloth.

As the steps of heavy boots grew near, Tomoyo shifted her face from side to side, then self-consciously tucking hair behind her ear. She blinked her somnolent eyes twice before Eriol entered her tent. "Hello," he said, "I need to see your work, please."

"What, afraid I did more damage than good," she spat, taking those that she had sewn and threw it to his chest. "Yes," Eriol said without a hint of displeasure but with mild amusement. "I am not naïve, sweetling---."

"_Tomoyo_."

"Tomoyo." He had let her sew to pass time by, but even then was he not as inexperienced to believe she would not try anything. If there was one thing prisoners sought—it was opportunity. And she had a hell lot of it. Eriol pensively watched her continue to sew. She had the opportunity only because he handed it to her in a platter. To have a plan of escape was one thing. To execute it was another. On both, he was terribly curious.

"Well then," he cleared his throat when he had finished inspection, "do you enjoy deer?" He pulled back the tent flap and revealed a bonfire with a pot cooking over it. Men sat around the fire and gurgled laughter spilled to the air. "It was quite a catch. Ran all over the place, that damned deer did---."

"I had a friend who was a deer," she tersely said, her eyes shot fiercely to him accompanied with disgust. "I cared for him and bandaged his left hind leg. Even fed him the scraps of food I had for two weeks. So, do I enjoy eating deer? _No._"

For a moment, Eriol stood back and watched her angry stares watching him. She was the product of about sixteen years, he would guess. Sixteen years, according to Syaoran, she had been living off the forest. Sixteen years of no family. Sixteen years of no friends besides the animals she lived among. And without a penny to her name, she sat there defiantly like a warrior who was ready for battle. And a battle against him—as the legends say—was a futile one.

Perhaps it was the topic of food, or maybe the prolonged hours she sat around mindlessly sewing and stripping, or even their heated arguments, but in the midst of the battles of who-would-be-the-first-to-fall, Tomoyo's stomach promptly let out a low growl of irrefutable hunger.

Eriol could not help a laughing smile which he quickly hid at the sight of her furious face. Lord, if looks could kill, no doubt he would be a dead man. He coughed a little but could not stop the amusement behind his masked face of seriousness. "So," he said with more conviction then necessary, then burst out to a full-fledged crooked grin, "Are you _certain _you have no desire for food?"

Heated flares reddened her cheeks. "For food—yes. For deer—_no._"

"You are a tough woman, Miss Tomoyo," he said tenderly, lazily drinking in her delectable features of pale alabaster skin and pursed lips, combined with a fierce burning glower in the color of royal purple that completely fixated him. "And at the same time, so very soft. I like it."

And though, with crossed arms, she haughtily told him she did not give a damn, his admission wrung from her a brighter blush that swept her body into a light glow of pink. Lovely.

* * *

Tomoyo sprawled across the furs beneath Eriol's tent, drain and ready for the night to take her away to her haven of dreams. Minutes after her encounter with Eriol back in the tent, his squire escorted her back here, where evidently she was to stay until further notice from his majesty. Hours had already gone by and still she had not eaten. She wanted desperately for the sandman to slip her into sleep, but the rumble of her stomach became more insistent over the hours.

Day had gone by, and everyday, she denied herself of the food the Dark Lord constantly offered. Time and time again, she reminded herself what he was--- the Dark Lord. But as time passed, she became weak with hunger and thirst. On the fourth day, the pit of her stomach sharply shot pain into her nerves. The acids of her stomach burned terribly.

Eriol entered with a bowl in one hand and a plate in the other. "I come bearing gifts," he dramatically said, puffing his chest, "again." But when he saw her curl with her hands clutched to her stomach, alarm in him grew rapidly.

"Tomoyo?" he said with a voice that increased in tone. "Goddamnit, Tomoyo."

Gently, he took her into his arms and placed the bowl by his feet. She muttered nothing, only looking at him with weary eyes and brows that creased together at the center of her fore. Spasmodically, she fisted her abdomen, closing her eyes and curling her body rigidly. A wave of dizziness washed over her till all she saw was spots of colors.

Her skin felt terribly cold against his, as he lay a hand to her forehead and arms. Her body suddenly convulsed with coughing fits that were terribly harsh and left her lightly sputtering blood onto the floor. "Oh gods." Quickly, with one hand, he reached for the bowl filled with hot broth and brought it to her lips, while the other wrapped protectively across her body. "Open your mouth, Tomoyo," he said with urgency, rubbing up and down her arms to bring heat to them. "Open," he demanded, placing his hand against her jaw. But she turned her face to his chest, refusing to be manhandled this way. Had she the strength, she would have set him in his place--- miles away from her.

"Please Tomoyo," he achingly pleaded with a voice that came out very rough. He caressed her jaw lightly, coaxing her lips to part for him. "It's only soup," he tried to persuade, but only failing when she shook her head against his tunic. "It will help." Quickly then, he took some broth into his mouth, then forcefully placing his lips to hers.

Tomoyo thrashed in his arms, but when she was about to scream, hot liquid poured into her mouth. When he let go, she pushed him away and spat it back out. "Don't touch me!" she furiously yelled. But he took her shoulders and shook then wrathfully. "Damnit! Let go of your pride, goddamned you!" he bellowed even louder, "I'm trying to help you!"

"I don't need your help! I need you to let me go!" Tomoyo cried, as she pounded her fists to his chest, swinging at him again and again. But Eriol only trapped her hands into his, till she was left to squirm against his mighty grip. He looked down at her, her head limp against his chest and her fists moving weakly but convulsively. "Why are you doing this to me," she croaked, feeling helpless and confused—and defeated. "I don't need it," she whispered, more to herself than to him. "I don't want you to help me," she said with weak conviction. But Eriol said nothing. Instead, he brought the bowl to her lips once more, and then she finally gave in. If he knew one thing, it was pride. And she was terribly proud.


	2. Chapter 2

_Screams filled her ears when she found herself standing atop a pool of blood. The soles of her feet were stained in red and a shiver ran up the hairs of her back. But only when a black hooded figure appeared with her mother limp in his bony hands did she know her nightmares were starting again. It was happening all over again. The details ran quick but she remembered them like scars. They never went away, they were never forgotten. And as Death began to carry her mother down to river Styx, where departed souls cry for mercy, Tomoyo could only stand on the sidelines and watch the gods whisper and jeer. And when the crowd dispersed and left one by one, when only she stood alone still staring far off into hell, only then did she notice the wetness of her cheek and the painful lurches of her chest. _

_And then, she screamed._  
And awoke.

She shot up from her sleep and found herself in the arms of her captor. Her breathing was shallow and erratic. She did not notice the soothing caress that danced up her back, or the whispers of gentle concern. She only sought the warmth of his skin and the lullaby of the rise and fall of his bare chest. "Hold me," she told him quietly but fearfully, "Make them stop."

When the light came, she awoke with a towel to her forehead and the scent of warm food circling the air. "Good morning," she said, seeing Eriol watching her with an intensity that somewhat felt much like a penetrating force. When he did not return the greeting she gave an audible swallow and cleared her throat roughly. "I-I wanted to thank you," she told him, twisting her drabs as she had always done when she was nervous, "for last night, I mean. For taking care of me. I understand I haven't exactly been the most exemplary captive but---."

"Why are there scratches on your back, miss Tomoyo," Eriol asked, wanting to sound straightforward but his voice wavered when her name rolled down his lips. Tomoyo fell silent, opened and closed her mouth. It took a moment, then she replied with an indignant tone, "That is not your concern, my lord---."

"They say you are an angel," he continued, clasping his hands together and staring right at her as if to bore a hole through all her mysteries. She cast her eyes downward in attempt to hide the angry flush of her cheeks. "Is that what they say?" When Eriol nodded, she retorted that it must be true then.

The man wanted a front row seat into her freak show of a life, was that it? She had thought him different from that. She had thought him a man who could see her as she was—see her for her soul rather than what shallow gossip had portrayed her to be. That perhaps, he would come to like her for just her---.

"Are you going back to heaven," he quietly inquired, when really he wanted to ask, _are you going to leave me? _He told himself he only wanted to know such things for practical reasons: how long he was going to hunt for her, going to bring her food, going to be by her side to drive away her nightmares. That was his story and he was sticking right to it.

"I don't know." She really didn't know.

* * *

That night, when the men and _him _had gone hunting, she saw her final moment of escape Tomorrow they were going back to the kingdom. Tonight was her last chance for freedom. Picking the men's breeches and shirt she had altered to her size, she pulled it over her head and through her legs. "Give me luck," she prayed as she had always prayed despite the failures of the outcome. 

That night, she escaped in the guise of a boy.

* * *

When the dark lord came back, he strode to the tent Tomoyo was designated, as he had always done. In the past, he had always come from a bountiful hunt, they had killed deer, rabbit, oxen, but today, he had not the chance to think properly. That morning, his squire had told the little he had found out about the supposed angel. That she was forced to cast herself in to solitude for sixteen years because his kind did not accept her. He did not doubt that it disturbed him a bit. There was an urge to beat sense into the people who did not want her. But what had come to be a problem was if she was going to leave him for heaven. Did heaven have the power to pry her out his hands? He hoped not. He hoped to god they couldn't. 

"Little one," he tentatively said, peeling the tent flap slightly open. "I need to talk to--- Tomoyo?" He was stricken when he found her to be nowhere inside. His heart pounded faster than usual as he swerved his head and paced swiftly across the camp. "Tomoyo! Damnit." He stood atop a tree stump and looked for a black haired girl among the crowd. He needed a sign of her. Any sign of her.

Looking with fires banked in his eyes, he told his men to spread across the forest. "Find her," he demanded of Syaoran and Touya. "Find her but don't hurt her."

"She's only one captive, my lord."

"_Find her._"

When they dispersed, he walked back to the tent, looked at it intently and tried to imagine what scheme she had plotted. It would have something to do with sewing. Something with needle work---

He stared hard at the pile of clothes and needle, and then he cursed.

"She's in men's clothes!" he yelled across the forest as he rode swiftly on his stallion. "Look for a boy!" He trained himself to catch details within a few seconds. There had to be signs of her somewhere. He would not let himself believe she left for heaven without telling him.

* * *

Tomoyo did not stop running till the her legs felt like jelly and she had not the breath to continue. With a hand clutched closely to her bosom, she heaved in air heavily and let out a few coughs. She had hoped not to let her weaknesses interrupt her at such a careful moment, but at least she had it down to a minimum. She did not want to sputter blood like before. 

The sound of hooves that crunched against dirt and rotten branches reached her ears. He was coming, and she would never outrun their horses. Crouching stealthily against a bush, she smudged her face in grime and soil, determined to conceal herself in the secrets of the night and its shadows.

Between hedges and leaves, she let herself be swallowed almost totally, but for some reason, she could not stop the uneven breathing of her chest. She was too frightened, too stressed and unable to relax. Her coughs began to increase, and she clapped a hand over her mouth in desperation.

Nearby, the foul-mouthed Arik turned his head sharply and grinned an abominable grin. "Come out, come out," he chanted lowly, letting out a crude laugh that made Tomoyo's skin shiver and crawl. She could only shut her eyes and press herself as close the to ground as possible. But in close distance he was, a slim ankle that stuck out the bush caught his eye. "I see you."

She tried her best not to gasp as his hand clamped hard onto her leg and wretched her from her hiding place. "No! Please!" she cried, writhing madly in his grasp. "Stop it!" But he would not listen. The world closed around her and all she saw was the maddening cruel twist of his upturned lips and felt the bruising grip on her left breast. Silent tears traveled down her cheeks as the numbness of her being settled on her body. "_Stop it…_"

Tomoyo didn't know what happened. She did not know when a man came to her rescue. She did not see his face or the punch he threw against Arik's jaw. All she knew was when she no longer felt the rough molestation on her skin, she fled like a doe. Beyond the trees, beyond the horizon.

"What the hell is the matter with you!" Syaoran demanded, grabbing the Arik's collar and lifting him off the ground. His fist felt sore but his anger was much worse than his fist. "The king will kill you for what you've done!"

Arik spit in his face and snarled. "It was you who let her go."

"Shut your mouth or cut your tongue," Syaoran hissed, throwing the man back down to the ground. "You tried to rape her! She's the king's property and you fucking violate her! _He'll kill you. _"

Eriol had heard yelling and had hoped of all hopes they had found her. His raced his horse fast and saw both Syaoran and Arik. "What happened? Have you seen a sign of her?" he asked in urgency. His face was overcome with worry and fear. "A scrap of her clothes, footprints, anything?"

Syaoran bowed his head. "She ran sire. West."

There was some relief to know she was still on earth. She had not left the ground to go to else where. But she tried to escaped him. Eriol got of his horse and stalked towards them, eyes narrowed and filled with banked ire. "You had her, and you let her go?"

Syaoran was wise not to respond with the same anger. Instead he kept his head down and replied, "She's terrified sire. Of men at the moment." Then he looked at Arik.

Terrified? Why was she terrified? When he had first met her, she had also just escaped. But it was not fright he saw in her eyes then. Instead, he saw defiance and pride. Why was she terrified now? Of men? What did this mean? "What do you mean?"

Syaoran breathed deeply and faced Eriol squarely. "He touched her sire," looking at Arik who did not respond in anyway, but simply furrowed look and gave an audible gulp. "Arik tried to rape her."

Eriol heaved first slowly then his breathing paced a great deal. His arms ran cold with the thought of someone touching Tomoyo's alabaster skin. Clenching his fists he struggled to stay put but he could only look at Arik with rage hammering hatefully. "Sire?---"

A fist connected to Arik's jaw and then a leg to Arik's stomach. Another came to his arm, then another to his cheek. Eriol did not stop the pounding till his fists were hurting, and even then he used his feet to stomp on Arik's crumpled figure. He could not imagine, could not even begin to imagine what Tomoyo felt. She needed him right now. She needed his comfort, as she did in the past.

At this thought, Eriol swiftly got back on his horse. He rode swiftly against the wind, but not before leaving a direct command to his squire. "Tie him, then take the army back to the castle. Set the dungeon guards on him. Tell them to pluck out his eyes, then slice his ears and tongue." His voice was menacing. But he was not through with the man. He turned to Arik with the most blazed anger shown in his glare. "Tomorrow morning, you will be walking through hell, deaf, blind and dumb."

When Eriol was no longer there, Syaoran placed a foot between Arik's legs and dug his heel hard down the crotch till the man begged for mercy. "And the next time you feel the need to throw spit on my face, just remember I can do more than fucking crush your penis, Arik." Holding a sword to the man's legs, he pressed the blade to it to emphasize meaning. Then Syaoran wiped his cheek of Arik's saliva and threw it back at him.

* * *

Tomoyo raced till she saw a lake in the far distance. Her mind was thoroughly shut down. Thinking was no longer something she wanted to do. Whenever she opened her mind, all that came to were images of low sadistic laughter and a feeling of vomit. Disgust crawled up her skin. She felt so utterly used. 

Willing his horse to go faster, Eriol hit his heel to the belly of his horse. A mile away, he saw a figure on the horizon. "Tomoyo!" he yelled as loud as he could, but it did not reach her ears. "Faster, Khan," he whispered desperately to his horse. "_faster._"

When she could not run as fast anymore, she limped till the lake was at her feet. Had she a moment more, she would have plunged herself into the freezing water. But arms wrapped around her waist and seized her into a hug.

No longer thinking straight, she flailed her arms about and cried. "No more! I don't want anymore!" Her cries shot through Eriol, and for the nth time, he could not will himself to believe what exactly Arik had done to her. "Don't touch me!" Eriol wanted to kiss her. Soothe her with his touch. Perhaps then, she would come to forget the ordeal. But he knew better. She was not ready. She was a frightened lamb amongst what she had led herself to believe were wolves. All he could do was console her with words and the reassuring feeling of a hug.

"H-he touched me," she said, quiet but frightened. "I told him to stop, but he t-touched me. And it hurts."

"I'm sorry," he whispered in painful anguish to her ear when she stopped thrashing. For anything else, he wished to turn back time. "I'll protect you next time. I won't let anyone hurt you." A week ago, he had preferred she think of him as a murderer rather than a chivalrous knight, tonight all he wished to do was to shield her and save her from all of the ugliness the world had to offer. He wanted none of that for her.

When she had not the strength for anything more, she lain her head upon his powerful and familiar shoulders and cried. He stroked the ebony hair that fell on the curve of her back. "If you let me, Tomoyo," he murmured into her hair, "I'll be your knight." Anytime, any day, he would be a chivalrous knight for her.

That night, he cradled her sleeping figure in his arms and went home.

* * *

He had placed her atop his silken sheets beneath the silver curtains that enclosed his bed. To his squire just outside his room, he told him to summon the healer. Tonight, she had felt warm in his arms, and although she had shown to be a warm creature on a few occasions, she was warmer than usual this time. And more than that, her spurs of coughs disturbed him. She was sick. 

Why did she leave the camp? She was sick and still she left camp. He cursed her for being too damned stubborn. Too stubborn and too proud.

Eriol looked at her and could not help but let his gaze travel her face then her body, then back to her lips. His heart pounded a bit faster and worry overcame his face. What did this mean?

* * *

When she awoke two days later, she found herself in a stone-walled bedchamber that was lit by torches of orange and red and a small pot, of concocted brew she supposed, by her bedside smothering her in steam. 

"You're awake," a throaty chipper voice said, "That's good."

Tomoyo turned her head to the side and saw a feeble looking man coming towards her. He was bespectacled with half-moon glasses falling to the bridge of his nose. His white hair neatly combed to one side.

"I'm Yukito, m'dear," he introduced, taking her hand and kissing its back out of respect. "The _healer,_" Eriol emphasized, trying his best to keep the irritation from his voice.

Tomoyo was not quite sure on what to do or why the odd man kissed her hand. She looked at him strangely. Blinking her eyes once, then twice, she imitated his gesture, taking his bony hand and kissing it. But he looked at her oddly then throatily laughed. What was wrong, she thought. Wasn't she doing it right?

"Enough," another voice sounded, more deep and cold. "Your job, Yuki," Eriol said coolly though looking at Tomoyo while he spoke.

He had spent a day watching over her, unable to sleep or to properly eat. When he did accidentally fall into the sandman's spell of slumber, it was because he had drunk himself to sleep. Right now, all he wanted to know was what was happening to _her_. And the last thing he wanted was to see his healer flirt with his captive.

It was the doctor's turn to blink. "Ah yes," he said, more chipper than before, "The lady's problem." He adjusted his glasses and smiled in amusement. "You have quite a weak body, lady… Tomoyo, is it?"

"Yes."

"Yes, well, from what his highness has informed me, you haven't been eating. The acids have slightly burned your stomach. But more than that, I am concerned," he said in all seriousness, "Your chest it very bruised inside. The coughing of blood—it has happened before hasn't it. It's not just the acids of your stomach. You had this problem even before you met Lord Eriol."

She said nothing, instead she forced her face down, looking at her clasped hands and pursing her lips. As of the moment, silence was her best option.

"Right. Well, my advise, stay away from dust. Try best to relax your self. No exerting of unnecessary actions," he said. "The very uneven breathing will close up your throat, which is why I gather you had problems breathing last night."

He turned to Eriol and motioned the pot the brewed liquid. Seriously he said, "if she has trouble breathing or coughing fits occur, let her breath the steam of this. Only breathe, mind you."

Tomoyo raised her hand, unsure if she was allowed to speak.

"Yes, m'dear?"

"What h-happens if you drink it?" she asked quietly.

"You'll have a sore stomach for weeks. Not to mention the numerous bathroom trips I am quite sure you'll _have_ to take," he laughed, and his easy voice made her chuckle.

"_Thank you_, Yuki," Eriol stonily said, emphasizing on the 'thank you' as a signal for him to leave.

Tomoyo stood shakily to somewhat properly say her goodbye to the man. Dr. Yukito smiled at the thought, kissed her hand, and left the premises.

As she watched him leave, she could not shake the uneasiness of Eriol's stare. He was still looking at her in a way that was different to her. In the past, he played with her, tried his best to rile her, and his eyes ones of amusement. Now, he was different. His hooded gaze somehow frightened her. This was him. This was the Dark Lord the legends foretold.

"Don't look at me that way," she said in a commanding tone. She didn't like it. It made her feel insecure, vulnerable. But Eriol did not change. He was still before her, crossed arms and a grim line on his mouth. "So you'll play nice with the healer, but you won't let me so much as look at you."

He was angry. Why he was so, his understanding did not fully comprehend. She tried to run away from him, again. But he saw that coming. He saw it coming and at that time, it only intrigued him, at that time, he did not know she meant to leave him for heaven. The prospect of never seeing her again did things to him. That was not what he wanted. He wanted to have her here, if nothing else, atleast to see her everyday. It was important. Why it was important, he also did not know.

"Before you," he hissed. "I got through everyday without so much as a hitch. Before you, I was the Dark Lord. Now I am this person, this ordinary being, not even fit to be king, who is in constant worry over you! Why are you like this," he demanded, shutting his eyes and slamming a fist on a wooden table hard enough for it to shake and for her to jump. "Why are you making it so difficult to---." He did not continue but swallowed his next words instead. He would not let himself think too much of this. But he knew already, in the back of his head, there was so much more to this.

"I'm sorry," she quietly apologized, tried to weakly smile at him, but she saw his tired eyes. He was right. She was being difficult, and all he did was tolerate with unwavering calm and amusement. He treated her exceptionally well and she threw it back to his face. "I'm sorry for being difficult. I'll be better."

Tomoyo saw the redness of his eyes and was somewhat moved by the fact he had stayed up to watch over her. Gently she took his hand and pulled him to bed. The questioning look washed over his face, but she had persisted and already made room for him beside her. "Sleep," she said in a way that touched a something in him, and he did not let go of her hand. She reassured him in a voice that slowly drifted off to the pleasantries of dreams, "I'll be here in the morning." But what Eriol wanted from her was more than just one morning.

* * *

"It's not deer, promise," Eriol told her laughingly. After yesterday, they had both awoke to a virtually good day, making a silent bargain to start from scratch. He had before her a fruitful meal of chicken and salad, and she smiled a lot. 

"So, why are you not married?" she asked one time, and he had told he hadn't the time for trivial things. "But you're different," he told her with utmost solemnity, when she had pointed out to him that the time he spent with her could have been used to spend time courting women. "You're not trivial, little one," was all he said. Firmly and sincerely.

This time, she chose not to mind his endearments towards her and the enthralling tone of his voice. Instead she opted to take things lightly and laugh. "You must have some women stashed away in your secrets," she insisted, shaking her head. And with the same insistence, he tilted to her and told her, "I have you, don't I."

Gracefully, she flushed and smiled. "That's not the same. If you have a problem wooing the women, you can always tell me you know," she said a matter-a-factly, causing Eriol to chuckle, "I may not be familiar with the ways of courtship, but I am woman after all. I must have some knowledge of use to you."

"I don't have a problem courting women." His brows furrowed with the thought that she thought him a man lacking in grace and poise when it came to women. He was very good with women. Women flocked to him begging for the warmth of his bed. All of them wanted his very approval. He was good with---.

But she only arched her brows and in a sing song voice, replied, "If you say so."

Silence fell over them for a minute and all they could do was look at each other, one with innocent eyes, and the other with insistent ones. When Tomoyo could no longer stand the deafening stillness, she leaned towards him in an almost conspiratorial manner. "Seriously though," she whispered in all graveness, "you can tell me. I won't tell a soul."

Eriol slapped his knee and laughed.

* * *

Every other day, the healer would come in to check up on Tomoyo. Nothing about that had been troubling for her, but everything about it had been troubling for the Dark Lord. He found himself to be moody whenever he saw the pleasantries between Tomoyo and Yukito take place before him. And when Yukito kissed her hand goodbye, Eriol glanced at Tomoyo. "They say he's having affair with another man, you know," he detachedly informed her, hoping to sound uncaring about the situation despite the squeezed feeling in his chest. 

Tomoyo watched Yukito leave, then cocked her head at Eriol. "Why does he do that though?" she inquired amusingly.

"Do what? Have an affair with a man? I wouldn't know. I prefer woman---."

"No, no." She laughed a little and shook her head. "He kisses my hand," she said meaningfully, very curious. "Why does he do that?"

"That is because he sees you as a lady," he plainly put. "A gentleman is obliged to kiss the hand of a lady when they enter or leave the room."

Her brows furrowed in the middle of her forehead. "How about you?"

"Sorry to disappoint, but I fear I am in no way female," he drawled, slightly taken back, thinking she meant to ask why men didn't kiss _his _hand.

Momentarily Tomoyo fell silent. Once, twice, thrice she blinked her violet-shaded eyes. "No, no," she chortled, breaking into bell-like laughter. "I meant to ask was if you would kiss _my _hand."

"Would you like me to?" he questioned, slowly being pulled into her spell of laughter.

She scratched her chin lightly and thoughtfully asked, "Is being a lady a good thing?"

"I believe so."

"Then yes, I would like you to," she said in finality, bobbing her head and smiling in pure gaiety.

Containing a grin, he watched her with amusement. Taking her pale hand into his own, he kissed it, lingering for seconds more than necessary. "How was that?"

Without realizing it, she thoughtfully said, "I think the legend plays you false."

He looked at her questioningly. "And why is that?"

"Well sir, it is because you deem yourself to be a gentleman."

He scornfully laughed. "The legend is true," he contradicted, as visions of countless bloody battles he fought paraded his mind in all their lurid ugliness, complete with battlefields littered with corpses of his men and his foes.

Tomoyo knew naught of his bleak memories and her gentle hear rejected his self-proclaimed guilt. She only knew him as the man who had protected her from his own lust-driven soldiers; who had saved her from death in the forest; who had proclaimed her lady and himself, gentleman by kissing her hand. "I don't believe it," she murmured.

"Most of it's true," he warned. Though he was willing to be her knight, he would not hide his ugly truths from her. He knew better than to lie. He knew better than to manipulate. But she only looked at him and his captured her gaze and held it for a moment. She didn't say it, but she loved the way the man's eyes became a shade darker from time to time.

"How do you do that?" she whispered without much thought, dimly aware she was reaching up for his face.

Before Tomoyo could touch his face, he took her feeble hands into his own. "Do what?"

"You're eyes," she breathed in a mesmerized manner. "They change color. They become darker."

He lowered his head. "It happens sometimes-- when I'm angry, enraged -- _impassioned_" he thickly said, descending his mouth as she looked up at his heavy-lidded, sensually black eyes, and some lambent protective instinct cried a warning she was getting in too deep. Panicked, Tomoyo turned her face away a scant instant before his lips touched hers. Undaunted, he trailed his warm lips to her cheek, pulling her nearer and brushing his lips to the sensitive column of her neck, while Tomoyo turned hot liquid inside. "Don't," she breathed shakily, turning her face into his tunic. "Please," she whispered, clinging to him in support as his tongue slid up her ear, sensuously, leisurely exploring every curve and crevice, making her shudder with longing as his arms tightened themselves around her lithe body. "Please stop," she said achingly. She didn't understand any of this. None at all, but it felt very sinful.

As if to respond, his hand slid lower, splaying on the small of her back and pressing her intimately and thoroughly in contact with the bulge between his unyielding thighs—and without the need for words, he told her to stop simply was not possible.

He stroked her nape sensuously, urging her to kiss him. Drawing a shattered breath, she buried her head much further into his tunic, denying his loving persuasion. At that, Eriol's hand tightened, and helpless to refuse him any longer she slowly lifted her head.

He took her lips into his own and molded them in tender urgency. He devoured her mouth and backed her against a wall. She was powerless to the insistent movement of his hips that grinded against hers, rubbing his full erection against her abdomen. Tomoyo let out a low moan of sinful wanting, unable to stop the instinctive arching of her own body.

Eriol fitted one hand behind her head and licked her swollen lips. "Open for me, sweetling," he said in rasped urgency. Parting her lips to welcome the thrusting invasion of his tongue, she felt him recoil and plunge again and again. She felt fire in his fingertips as he trailed his hands down her back and sides, breasts, waist, and cupping her buttocks, pulling her tightly against his rigid arousal.

She felt his hands tug her clothes off her and that made her panic in wild alarm. She tore his mouth off him and crossed her arms over her body. "What are you doing?" she asked with eyes that widened with evident fear, "I-i don't understand this."

"I want you," he said, quiet and without emphasis, though his eyes were stark-black.

"Enough to let me go?" she whispered, wanting to be free once more after all this.

"No."

His voice was extremely plain, flat, as if refusing a distasteful meal. For such a small word, it felt incredibly hurtful. She was ready to give him all of herself and her morals for the small price of her freedom. Apparently her virtue was not worth much, she thought bitterly, biting back the unshed tears. "Damn you."

* * *

Author Note: Can someone tell me if my pacing is too fast?

* * *


	3. Chapter 3

She didn't get it. He knew she didn't get it--- why he simply could not let her go. It was more than want for sexual pleasure that he kept her in his bed chambers. It was nothing as cold and as callous. Her virtue was prized and sure. But her company was more important than sex. He needed her there because he wanted her there. For as long as he could possibly hold.

She did not get it. Not yet. But soon, she would see him the same way he saw her. Like a breath of fresh air. Salvation. Freedom from all his sins

* * *

The world tilted a bit after that day. Tomoyo no longer slept beside him. Often, she scooted over to the far ends of the mattress of silk and protectively covered her body with cold hands. When she awoke, it was because of the soft kiss he placed on her temple. She didn't show it though—that she was awake. As still as she could stay, she kept her eyes closed and pretended to still be in the deepest of slumbers. The tenderness in those kisses did not shake of the feeling of a common doxy that was branded to her skin. He refused her. And it was humiliating.

Eriol opened his eyes when the sky was colored in purple with slices of pink. It was early dawn and he had a two weeks worth of responsibilities he had neglected sitting on his desk. Donned in warm woolen cloth, he crept out of bed and walked over to the other side of the bed. He had not yet known what to do about his predicament with Tomoyo. He wanted to talk to her, but he was not sure of what to say. So instead he reverently stroked her hair away from her face, and she flinched from his touch. He kissed her temple and she turned her back to him.

* * *

"_The Valkyrie's return is to be soon, and although it has been_---." Eriol had been in the middle of dictating a letter to the kingdom where the Kinomoto's ruled hard and swift, when a shadowy figure he knew very well crossed his left most vision. "Bloody hell." His legs, as if they had a life of his own, shot up quickly, and Nakuru, his trusted servant went wide eyed with confusion then promptly shrugged her shoulders and jotted it down as well. "I don't speak much royalty gibbrish," she said in a very knowing voice, her head bowed down and her hand scribbling on paper, "but I must say, that last sentence won't do you much good with the Kinomoto's, especially if you are planning to---."

"Nakuru."

"Hm?"

"Shut up," he hissed through gritted teeth, his mind wandering over whom had left Tomoyo unaccompanied, especially at her disposition as of the moment. Anyhow, it did not matter much. Guards were scouring all over the damned palace. Any second now, she would be walking through those doors with hands tied behind her back and fire in those bewitching vibrant violet eyes of hers. Her hair would be in disarray and like any warrior, she would be ready to pounce, at him most probably---.

A knock sounded loudly on his door, and Eriol could only smile at the unfailing promptness. "Enter," he invited of the wild woman he knew to be standing outside, no doubt captured by one of his men. But as doors opened, instead of a disheveled girl baring her teeth, she was calm, slightly haughty, but all the while incredibly poised and elegant despite the handling of his soldier on her arms.

"Tell your man to release me," Tomoyo coldly commanded of the king whose last meeting with her was still fresh on her mind. "I told him I wasn't going to go outside the castle walls and he ignores me. Much like an ignoramus monkey." She cast a glance at the soldier whose face she presumed was made of stone as he did not attempt to strangle her with his large fists. "I think he's deaf."

Had he been in his tussles of amusements with her, he would have chuckled at the bluntness of her statement. But today, he was more curious that amused, and he gave a swift nod towards his soldier to release her wrists.

Rubbing her wrists to emphasize the ache, she glared viciously at Eriol, as if he was to blame for the soreness. "I don't need governesses," she evenly said, "I am not eight years old. You can't treat me as if I need a governess."

"And as you can see, they are _not_ governesses," Eriol replied casting a thoughtful glance at one of his men, his tone unruffled by Tomoyo's mean looks, "they are _soldiers_. You are a _captive_. Let us not forget that."

Her mind reeled back to the times he had chased away her nightmares and held her in her sleep, when he had kissed her tenderly on her forehead, and then when it became dire and he had almost made love to her. _You're not trivial, little one. _All of it had been a trick. And for what? To ice his victories with a fallen angel as the gleaming golden trophy? If it were the case, it wouldn't come as a shock. So many have tried it, and now he has her. She had only thought him different. "Yes," she forced the hardened words out of her mouth, and it came through a nasty hiss, bitter and irate. "Let _us _not forget that."

The instant he saw the incensed fires in her words and face, he regretted his words. He didn't see her as a captive. Not really. But as it were, it was the truth. She was, by definition, a captive, taken forcefully from her land. Plain and frank. But evidently, she thought of it much deeper than meant to be. She had some feelings regarding their encounters for the past few weeks. She had come to feel for him. That knowledge filled him with an unknown emotion that was much poignant. Reaching out to her, he touched her elbow lightly and gently murmured, "Tomoyo, I didn't mean---."

"Don't touch me." Jerking her arms back as if she had been burned, she whispered furiously, "I don't want to be touched."

It took only a moment. She closed her eyes, straightened her shoulders, and regained composure.

"If you weren't planning on escaping, then why were you outside the chambers? Were you looking for me?" Eriol asked, but Tomoyo only laughed at him though it sounded terribly scornful and belittling.

"You are so arrogant and self-centered. You think you're the most important thing in my life. I have more important things in my life. Things you would not even _begin_ to comprehend, so just **stop** thinking you are the most important thing in my life," she heatedly said, almost daring him to defy her reply. "And if you must know, I was looking for one of your soldiers. Arik."

"You can't."

Drawing her eyebrows in a furrow, she a frown set on her haughty lips. "It would only be for a second, I assure you. I won't disrupt anythi---."

Eriol only shook his head. "You _can't_, because he was disposed of a few weeks back."

"P-pardon? Why? What do you mean?" Tomoyo's face fell flat. And pain-filled sorrow filled her in the pit of her stomach. "I haven't even told him that I forgive him." Her statement trailed of in a weak voice of hopelessness. She simply couldn't leave things as they were with that soldier. It was important to tell him she forgave him. Terribly important.

"He tried to rape you," Eriol angrily pointed out, "Or have you forgotten the way he touched you with his dirty hands?" His eminent temper exploded within him when he had learned of the mistreatment he had done. To him, it hadn't been enough that he had the man killed. If it had been possible, he would have liked to kill him again. "Have you forgotten the way he looked at you and violated you? Did you not feel the sin in his actions? Or did you enjoy it? Is that why you want to talk to him---"

"God forgives!" she fought back at his hurling accusations. It wasn't that she had forgotten the way the soldier had with her. She had remembered, and that was why she needed to talk to him. But Eriol had only been stunned for a moment at her fiery respond, and in his silence she quietly told him, "God forgives, and I forgive."

"Well, _I don't_," he wrathfully said with anger bottling in his fists that clenched till his knuckles were pale.

"Did you kill him in my name?" she quietly asked, "I don't need blood on my name. I don't _want_ blood on my name.""

"He is my soldier and I gave him no orders to treat captive in such a foul way! He disgraced the kingdom," he coldly answered, purposely avoiding an answer of yes or no. She did not need to hear his real answer; it was in his face and in his refusal to meet her eyes. She strode back to the door, reached for the brass handles and turned it. But before leaving, she told him in a murmured voice, "I shall pray to Zeus for forgiveness of this unholy murder, my lord."

"Damn your forgiveness, and damn your god."

* * *

When he went to bed that night, he saw Tomoyo kneeling by the bed with her elbows propped on the silken sheets, her head bowed down, and her lips moving in a silent prayer. "Save your prayers," Eriol drawled when she had finished. "I don't need them."

"And again, your arrogance does not fail you, my lord," she mocked, pushing back bed covers and slipping under them, but not before he stole a glimpse of her in white silk. He could only stand on his side of the bed, with arms crossed over his chest and his head tilted slightly to the right, contemplating on the way her ebony curls of her hair cascaded upon the pale glow of her shoulders and to the soft curve of her breast, and her long lashes fanned across her rose-kissed cheek. It was her voice that snapped him out of his reverie. "Will you ever learn to put away your pride? Or is it unbecoming of a Dark Lord to be humble?"

"I do what it takes to govern this country, _madam_. As king, while I am loyal to only my country, I am entitled to my pride," he said, rolling his tongue over the word madam, as if to return her mockery in his sarcastic courteous way.

He stripped himself of his woolen tunic, as he had done many times, only other times, she had been asleep; this times, she was awake. And at the sight of his bare chest that gleamed like bronze oil under the candle light, she furrowed her eyebrows and pursed her lips. If she could not tear her eyes away from his finely chiseled physique, she would atleast sum up the pretense displeasure--- despite the quickness of her heart.

Eriol gave her a side way glance, and did not miss the light lick of her lips. It was only at the sight of the irrepressible quirk of his mouth did she force her body to divert itself to the other side. Just as he opened his mouth to comment, she beat him to the punch line, telling him with a glare in her voice, "Shut. Up."

A boyish grin swept his features and he too slipped under the bed covers.

Tomoyo felt the bed shift and she knew he was in. She had meant to treat him now like she did all the while they were silent enemies--- with animosity. But when his hand rounded her tiny waist and his hard chest came in contact with her back, she stiffened, unable to speak, unable to think. Only when her thoughts snapped back did she manage a breathy whisper. "Why are you doing this to me?"

"Because I like you," he breathed to the crevice of her ear, shivers running down her back and powerless to hold back soft gasp. "You shouldn't," she told him in her weak state, closing her eyes and unconsciously relishing the sweet closeness, "I am only a captive."

He forced her body to face up and his own covered hers. His hands pinned themselves to the sides of her shoulders, effectively and intimately trapping her with his body. "Yes, you are my captive," he agreed, and she felt anger surge up her balled fists and across her face. She opened her mouth to give him the meanest speech she could think of at the moment, but he continued before she could breathe a word. In the most serious voice, he leaned his head close to her, where there breaths mixed, and murmured, "but that is not all you are."

"What am I then, if more than a captive?"

And right before he covered her mouth with his own and released his torrents of wanting, he whispered roughly, "Among many other things, my sweet, you are _mine_."

* * *

At first the kiss was gentle, tentative like a greeting between two lovers. He sweetly licked her bottom lip and glided his hands under the lining of her dress to caress whatever he could touch. His blood burned at the sound of her soft moans at the back of her mouth as he deepened his kisses and left her wanting much more. His tongue stroked the crease of her mouth, begging her to part her lips so he could explore the cavern of her mouth. And when she did, she knew not what to do, and instead relied on her instincts and lust that bellied in the pit of her stomach.

His hand sought the soft globe of her breast that swelled and filled his palm. He had told himself that he would stop. He would let go of her _now,_ before his wanting did something to them that she was not ready for--- But the groan that poured out of his mouth when he felt a hardened nipple beneath his thumb, was one of desperate desire for more.

She did not know when her clothing came off, she was only certain of the heat of his tongue trailing down her neck; and when he licked her breast, she ceased to think at all. All her defenses fell that moment and she moaned, "Eriol…"

At the sound of his name, he stopped, lifted himself with his hands and looked at Tomoyo's half-lidded passionate gaze. "That's the first time you said my name," he whispered with a husky tone to his rough voice, feeling so much at that instant than in any other.

As he began his descent back to her body, it was only then her mind snapped back into place and she became aware of the graveness of her situation. "No," she said, turning her head to the side and shutting her eyes. But he did not listen and instead brought scorching kisses down her flat stomach. "No!" she cried, when he took hold of the waist band of her cotton underwear and began to peel it off. With a force she did not no she had, she pushed him up and away from her womanhood. Firmly, she spoke, "No more."

"Don't act like you don't want this," he told her with intense frustration denied of its satisfaction. "You want this, and you damn well know it!"

"I'm not ready!" she cried, half-pleading, half-frightened. Then suddenly embarrassed about her body, she lifted the blanket to cover her nakedness. But Eriol yanked it back down to expose her skin to the cold emptiness, and angrily demanded, "Don't cover yourself from me."

She grew fearful of his actions and felt herself go back to that place in the woods, behind the bush, with the cruel twist of the lips on the soldier and his dirty hands between her legs. It was an emotion that was more than fear. More than anything else. "Please," she begged him in a trembling whisper, feeling the blood in her veins run terribly cold for a minute. "_I'm not ready._"

Tears threatening to fall off the side of her cheek and Eriol felt a foul disgust for himself. He leaned in to kiss the tears to amend this sin, but she turned her head sharply again and had her eyes shut as if she braced for pain. So he left her alone, let his body shift to the spot beside her and his hands drop to his sides. He had intended to watch her sleep, but his face haunted her, and she twisted to face the other side. But he took her cold hand into his and just this once, when no one was looking, when no one else was listening, he whispered a soft apology for his wrong doings towards her and left.

Only then did she sleep.

* * *

In the night, his voice floated in her dreams and fell back to his sweet apology. It had been one of sincerity and uncertainty._ You are a goddess, little one. And I--, _he had swallowed and coughed to clear his clogged voice, _I am not fit to touch you. _

The next day, she awoke with Eriol gone and her mind in shattered confusion. _Don't act like you don't want this. _Scenes of last night played over and over and over again. Each caress and each kiss burned sinfully and deliciously against her skin that flushed under his body. The thoughts did not cease, even when she commanded herself to stop the indecency. She cried again that moment--- because the truth, in all its simplicity, was that

he wanted her,  
and she wanted him.

* * *

In the library, Eriol lounged like a sultan. A drunken sultan, he corrected, with a glass of brandy in one hand and his head faced to the ceiling. Just as he knew Tomoyo was contemplating last night's events, so was he. The dirtiness of his actions brought forth disgrace to himself as king and added to fear of those women who thought of him as the babe-slaughtering, blood-drinking Dark Lord. Desperate lust had possessed him that time, and he was never desperate in terms of lust.

Perhaps the reason he had been so intent of having her was the thought of having the first woman who refused him. He was never refused. The knowledge of that it had finally happened stung his bloated ego. That was why. That was it. His mind allowed no other plausible or inconceivable motive.

He had been running his mind to the ground when the door knob turned and Tomoyo herself stepped in looking like a princess in a blue dress and her hair loosely tied to the back. She was so heartbreakingly young; he cursed himself for the nth time for his misdeeds.

She was shuffling about the long hemline of her clothing, she had not noticed Eriol till he cleared his and spoke. "Tomoyo," he carefully said, and she looked up with surprise in those beautiful doe-eyes of hers. "O-oh! I'm terribly sorry," she quickly said, tripping on her words. Jerking up the edges of her dress from the floor, she started back for the door, "I-i did not realize---."

"We need to talk," he cut her quietly, then amended, "I need to talk. To you."

"I don't want to talk to you," she told him quietly, already backing up to the door. But he stood erect and sensually strode in the powerful, domineering way he did. Feeling trapped, she fought back, but her words came out in a whispered when he neared her, "I don't want to be anywhere with you." _Because I can't think when I'm around you. _Unable to help the last train of thought, she stumbled backwards a bit when Eriol reached out and grabbed her. With the door to her back and his hard body to her front, she felt immensely small and meek.

She closed her eyes for a moment when he ran his fingertips up her arm, powerless to stop the shiver. Intending to give him the most challenging glare she could muster, she opened her eyes to find him only inches to her face. His hot breath to her mouth and his chest lightly touching her bosom gave a sense of powerful euphoria that filled her senses. With the softest and huskiest murmur against her lips, he told her, "liar," And took her into a kiss that spiraled into intense lust when she groaned.

Placing one hand against her cheek and the other against the flare of her sun-kissed dress, he swallowed her into his arms and moved her to dance with him in tongues and caresses. Licking the crease between her lips, he silently begged for entrance and surrender to what was to be the hottest kiss she would ever feel. There was a small sound she made at the back of her throat when he touched his tongue to hers, and it drove him to heights of heady passion.

He promised himself he would stop after one kiss. But after one kiss, it wasn't enough. Nothing that had to do with her was ever enough. More was good. More of her was most definitely good. And she flushed promisingly as his hand fisted her skirt up so he could have the feel of the smooth skin.

Her legs trembled beneath his fingers and fell slightly as she clung to his body. He was so close to the heat and satisfaction. So close, she could no longer deny the yearning. But he had to stop now. Stop. A little more and he would stop, he promised. Just a little more.

Soon and rather reluctantly, he gentled his kiss and let the hemline of her dress fall soundly to the floor. With her forehead leaning against his and her hand clutching on to dear life on his shoulders, she closed her eyes as he watched the beautiful scatter of pink on her cheeks and neck, as well as the deliciously pink of her lips that parted. When Eriol had the strength to speak, it came out in a rasped whisper. "_This _is why we have to talk."

"We'll talk," she panted, staring into his half-lidded eyes of sensuality, "when you stop looking at my lips."

He lifted his eyes from her lips to the depths of her amethyst eyes. "I'll stop looking when you stop being so damned beautiful."

"Am I to understand," Tomoyo began, a quirk that curved up on her lips and a twinkle in her eyes, "that you'll stop looking only when we're old and turning into carcass?"

"Never," he firmly said, and with a graveness in his voice and seriousness in his face, he gave his most solemn promise. "Even then, you'll be beautiful."

She felt a melting somewhere in her, but paid no heed to it, or even to the hammering of her heart against her chest that first came quick then began again in slow, painful beats. Something was happening she could not understand. Something of important value.

* * *

When they had taken the time to shake of lightheadedness and waves of euphoria, Eriol held out her hand and walked her to a chair situated by a small coffee table that had another chair across it. He saw the uncertainty of her face and knew this was a topic long overdue. 

"I want you," he said bluntly, clasping his hands together. "And you want me." Pausing for a moment after his declaration, he half-expected her to deny their lust and need. He caught the grim line on her face, which opened for a second. And when nothing came out, she closed it and nodded slightly.

There was a smile that came to his face at her courageous and honest answer. So he reached for her hand across the table and smiled encouragingly. "But we are not allowed to satisfy those wants because you're not ready and ---." He cut off suddenly and looked thoughtful for a moment. "And?" she said, telling him in one word to continue his sentence. But already he shook his head and waved a dismissive hand. "Nothing. You're just not ready for that kind of relationship." And she nodded.

"So I propose, we make things… easier for us," he knowingly said, and he leaned across the furniture when she asked, "how?"

"I should be allowed to give you a kiss," he simply said, placing a quick peck on her cheek, "here," and he placed another one on the other cheek, "and there," and he placed one on her nose. She giggled under his lips when he put another on both her eyelids and one on her chin. "And everywhere."

"Do you agree?" he inquired with a boyish grin when he gazed at her smiling face. And she contained a laugh and nodded. "I also agree," Tomoyo said as he began to descend his lips onto the hollow of her neck, "that you are in need of a quizzing glass, my lord. For you do not know my lips from the rest of my body."

And for the first time in his life, experienced a laugh in a kiss. Or was it a kiss in a laugh?

* * *

It was nearing six of the eve when they resurfaced from the library, and promptly went for an early supper. The day had not been so missed as they spent the afternoon with a bit more kisses and him teaching her the basics of chess. When he beat her seven times, she flung her arms in the air and demanded he lose out of proper decorum. 

"Where is the proper decorum in that?" he said, arching a brow and looking at her with a challenging gaze.

"It is unbecoming, _sire_," she gravely said, shaking her head with a sham of seriousness, "to be go about trampling--- no, _parading,_ on a _lady's_ ego, when it hasn't even been a day since I've learned this."

Eriol sat back and scratched his chin in a thoughtful manner. Then he leaned forward to arrange his pawns and her pieces back its starting state. With a look of amusement and enjoyment, he told her, "one more game."

It was the last and only game Tomoyo played where in she won. Despite the lack of skill Eriol put into the game, she was nonetheless exceedingly pleased. "I shall tell everyone I won against you in a game of strategy," she chuckled, her voice echoing through the halls, "Imagine what they will say about a Dark Lord, conqueror of lands, losing to a girl."

"They shall say I am a countrified paragon of proper decorum, madam."

* * *

They parted ways after the game, preparing for their supper attire. But as soon as she was ready to eat, she had lost her way to the dining area. It had been a good fifteen minutes before she shrugged off her pride reluctantly and asked a soldier for help. 

Tomoyo dug her shoes into the lush carpet as she stared uneasily at the grand door before her, where apparently the food was on the other side. It stood before with an unequalled height that stuck intimidation into her arms and legs. Swallowing audibly, the lump in her throat, she gave a heavy breath and lurched forward, then turned and walked backward—then forward, then backward. And when the footmen swept the door open with soundless flourish, her knees wobbled. She found herself standing in a room about ninety feet high, held up by imposing pillars of carved stone, and dominated by a three crystal chandeliers of outstanding proportions. For a moment, she would have guessed the room empty, as her gaze traveled to the dining table of mahogany outlined in intricate gold. But at the very end, she could hear a distant rustle of paper but could not see the man behind it. Awkwardly, she fidgeted and shifted her feet. "Good evening," she uncertainly greeted waiting for the man she knew to be Eriol to stand and recognize her presence, as he always did.

* * *

Author's Note: My brain is so fried from all this.

* * *


End file.
